


Conversations of a Personal Nature

by barefootwithneonhands



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Spoilers Through 02x13
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-27
Updated: 2016-03-27
Packaged: 2018-05-29 12:47:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6375319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/barefootwithneonhands/pseuds/barefootwithneonhands
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If this keeps up, Frank is going to start charging by the hour. Or, five times Frank Castle gave some decent advice, and one time he took it himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Conversations of a Personal Nature

**Author's Note:**

  * For [daisybalance](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=daisybalance).



His footsteps whispered over the carpet as he stalked down her hallway. Baby crying, in need of a change in 214. Older woman in 216 washing the dinner dishes, chattering absently to her cat about her grandkids in Montana.

He paused outside of 212 and cocked his head. A soft step, the creak of an old floorboard beside the door. The final, resounding click a safety coming off. And a shaky indrawn breath. He palmed .22 under his coat, adjusted his stance, and hummed a few bars of “Shining Star”.

“Goddamn it, Frank,” came a muffled voice from behind the door.

Frank coughed apologetically.

Two deadbolts clanked back, then a chain lock, then the lock on the doorknob. He frowned as the door swung open and the orange light of the hall fell on Karen’s drawn face. “You were supposed to get another deadbolt. And maybe a bar.” She huffed and moved back, allowing him to sidle into the narrow room.

He gave her a quick once over, from the bruises on her face to the pretty blue polish on her toes, peeking out from under the hem of her old night gown.  Then he averted his eyes, doing a sweep of the room as she locked the door behind him. It wasn’t polite, staring at a lady in her night gown. But his job tonight was more important than being polite.

“My landlady wouldn’t let me. Said she didn’t want any more holes in the walls.” Karen waved at her apartment. The craters from the AK-47 had been patched haphazardly and the scars left by The Hand’s katanas were still raw and coughing plaster dust.

His frown deepened. “She say that before or after she see that shiner you’re sportin?”

“Does it matter?” Karen crossed the room and grabbed the carafe from her ancient coffee maker, slamming on the sink and letting it fill with water as she drummed her fingers on her metal sink. Frank tried to hide a wince.

“You don’t… I don’t need…”

“You show up here at this time of night, I’m making you coffee.” She punctuated her growl by upending the carafe over the water well and banging it to get the last few drops out. Then she slammed the fragile glass pot back onto the warmer plate and dragging out the can of Maxwell House she kept in her freezer.

Karen made him coffee, Frank would drink it. Even if it tasted like burnt dogshit and went down like battery acid. He swallowed hard and watched her narrow shoulders as they grew more and more tense.

“I’m…” Sorry? Karen would knock him into next week for saying that. Or break her hand on his thick skull trying, anyway. “I’m going to come back. Tomorrow. While you’re out.”

She whirled, hands clutching at the counter behind her. “No, no you don’t have to… it’s okay. That you’re here. That you stopped by.” She wrapped her robe more tightly around herself.

Frank ducked his head. “Nah, I just meant. Uh. That I’d come back tomorrow and fix your door up. And maybe reinforce your windows. Since you won’t, yanno, move.” Hadn’t moved for The Blacksmith, hadn’t moved for The Hand, hadn’t moved for The Kingpin last month.  

Her laugh was more bitter than her coffee. “Can’t afford it. One of the last rent controlled places in the city. They can’t get me out, even if people keep trying to shoot me. And I can’t leave.” She cupped her elbows, hunching a bit at the middle.

He nodded at the gun bulging in the pocket of her tattered flannel robe. “You planning to shoot back one of these days?”

She went still and then turned away to pull two chipped mugs down from a shelf. “Not my first rodeo, remember?”

He nodded, even if she couldn’t see it. “Yeah, I remember.” He remembered the hollow, raw look in her eyes last year in the diner. And the muffled whimpering sounds she’d made when she’d crawled out to look at the carnage he always left in his wake. Karen Page could pull the trigger, but it cut her open on the inside in a soft place Frank had never possessed.

“You want some for the road, too?”

Frank’s focus snapped back to the Karen of tonight, with a cup of hot coffee in her hand, a split lip, and eyes that were somewhere between exhausted and pissed off with a dash of fire for flavor. “What?”

“If you brought your Thermos, I could send some along with you.” She handed him a mug emblazoned with a chubby cat playing a violin. He rubbed at the kitten’s nose. “It’s cold out there.”

“Yeah. That would be good. Thanks.”

She nodded and moved back to the safety of her counter. He grunted. Big man, small room, smaller woman. He could still get to her if anyone took a shot through her big windows, and she could take all the breathing room she wanted.

“So why are you here, Frank?” The _this time_ was silent, but it was still there. She’d once said he was dead to her, and he respected it. But the city was smaller than most people realized and they’d never quite managed to leave each other alone.

Frank took another sip of the battery acid and his eyes flicked to the cars passing by outside. No repeats.

“Frank?”

He sighed. “Just… you know. Know you had a rough night. Wanted to…”

She gave him a small smile and he watched her lip crack open, glossy blood welling to the surface. “Are you checking up on me, Frank Castle?”

“Always, ma’am.”

“Well that’s,” her smile broadened and then dimmed as the pain caught up with her, “that’s sweet.” He twitched. Karen picked up her own coffee mug and cradled it in both hands. “Thank you, Frank.”

Frank rubbed the back of his neck. “I know you don’t need it. But.” But I heard you screaming at Red back there on that rooftop. And I could hear your heart break from two buildings away. And you’re the kind of woman who gets more hurt letting go than holding on. And even if you kick every freak out of your life and move to Nebraska, you’re still a target. “I never smelled gun oil around here. And you gotta keep that piece in working order.” He nodded to her pocket again. “So I brought you a kit.”

Frank fumbled around in his jacket for a long moment, careful not to breathe or look at her. Then he pulled out a small wrapped bundle and laid it gently on her scarred coffee table. Well, on the neat mountain of blue and gray files on her coffee table. They were all over her bed, too, though he was very careful not to look at that either. Or to wonder where she slept.

He cleared his throat and then risked a glance at her. Her bruised pink mouth hung open and she stared at him like he might start juggling his ammo and singing show tunes. “I wrote you some instructions. And I can, uh, get you more oil and brushes. When you need them.”

“I,” she closed her mouth with a click, “I hadn’t thought about that. Thank you, Frank.”

He grunted. “You clean it once a month when you’re not using it. You clean it every time you fire it, or if it gets wet. Spring’s coming, so it might get wet. But you take care of it, it’ll take care of you.”

“Yes sir,” she smiled again and set down her mug on the counter. Then she danced toward him, shoulders square and determined. Frank backed up a few steps and she rolled her eyes. “Frank,” she said, holding out her hand. “Thermos? You’re definitely getting all the coffee. I really appreciate my, ah, present.”

He let out a breath and grabbed the Thermos slung low on his hip. “You’re welcome, ma’am.”

**Author's Note:**

> 1) An Easter treat for the lovely @daisybalance, who dragged me into this fandom but had no idea I was writing fic, too. Surprise!  
> 2) The remainder is outlined, but not written. I’ve never tried tackling a multi-chapter like this before, but I at least know where we’re ending up.  
> 3) Unbeated. All mistakes belong to me and my dyslexia.


End file.
